Visitor

Summary

Professor Douglas Keller meets extraterrestrial Aldrea, a beautiful Quenterian scientist stranded on Earth, while hiking in the Adirondack Mountains. Hunted by the FBI and a warring faction of Aldrea’s people called the Radicals, she turns to Doug for help. Doug is no hero, but after Aldrea used her telepathic abilities to heal him from a lethal wound, a psychic bond formed between them that opened their minds to each other in ways Doug cannot understand and Aldrea cannot explain. In a nightmarish turn for the worst, Doug, Aldrea, and the FBI agents find themselves very far from Earth in the middle of a violent galactic coup engineered by the ruthless Radical leader, Veera, who aspires to dominate the galaxy. They must defeat Veera before Earth is enslaved—or destroyed. Out of their league and out of time, only the bond between Doug and Aldrea might prevent disaster, if they can figure out how to use it to defeat Veera before it’s too late.

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Visitor - Wayne Meyers

To my cats, because they are fluffy and cute, and only interrupted a little bit.

And to my father, who innocently handed me a copy of Lucky Starr and the Oceans of Venus by Isaac Asimov when I was a boy, without having a clue of the doorways it would open within my imagination.

On second thought, perhaps he did. Perhaps he did.

For making Visitor a reality:

To the beta readers who helped me with their awesome feedback.

To my fellow writers from various groups and conferences, whose own successes and struggles inspire and motivate me to never give up.

PROLOGUE: VEERA

Veera’s secret headquarters

Veera was old. Far older than society permitted most of her people to grow. She glared at the server trembling before her desk, his knees threatening to buckle at any moment.

The over-inquisitive fool had dared to wonder about her age while delivering her midday meal. It mattered not he had tried to shield himself from her superior brain, for Veera forcibly mindswept his thoughts from his head. She required followers who supported her without question, especially here, in her secret lair, where the future of the galaxy tipped in her favor. Veera never took chances with such things and monitored their thoughts regularly.

Do you know how I lived to be this age? Veera asked. She ignored the widening stain on his pants as he wet himself.

N-n-no my queen, the server said. He kept his face pointed toward the ground, the chattering of his teeth amusing her.

Veera stepped out from behind her desk and strolled toward the groveling server. I’ve spent many fortunes on the black market having my internal organs replaced with more efficient, artificial creations. Our people possess the technology to live forever, but the fools waste it over ancient idealistic principles. Backward thinking Purist fools!

The server dropped his face to the plush flooring. Yes, my queen.

Veera placed her foot on top of his head and pushed his face deeper into the carpet. You wanted to know how I old I am. I will grace you with the answer: I have lived for four hundred and fifty cycles through my own resources, ingenuity, and tenacious resolve to expand beyond the limitations imposed upon me by those who failed to value their own self-worth!

A muffled groan was all she could make out. She reached down and yanked the server’s face up by his hair, leaving her shoe firmly across the back of his neck. Hovering close to his face, her voice trickled venom. Do I not look beautiful for my age, oh curious lump of excrement? Is not my face young and flawless in appearance? Do you not find each and every lock of my hair lustrous and appealing?

The server whimpered in her grasp, his neck threatening to break. Veera removed her foot and wrenched him up by his hair until his face was level with hers, his body dangling above the floor.

She stood tall and straight while staring deep into his eyes, enjoying the squirming helplessness and fear. The mangled black glow emanating from his body, indicating his extreme distress, excited her further. She held his face so close to hers she could taste his breath. She chilled her harsh, cold voice further.

My eyes may be new, but you do see the ancient wisdom residing within, do you not?

The server, trembling in her grasp, did his best to nod.

Veera chuckled as she dropped the wretch, who collapsed at her feet, sobbing.

Knowledge seeped into her brain, reports from her assistants of the revolution she’d engineered. Her glow of exultation burst from every pore in strands of brilliant green, projecting outward like spines. Her plans had succeeded. She laughed, throwing her arms up in the air and twirling about her office. The server crawled toward the doorway, hoping to escape.

She stepped in front of the exit, looking down at him with her hands on her hips. Do you know why I always obtain my desires, excrement? It’s because I never leave anything to chance, not even the most minute possibility.

She knelt down and grasped the server’s chin to hold his face steady, forcing him to look at her. My revolution is now underway, from the largest system to the smallest asteroid. I’ve disabled every Purist spaceship and broken their communications, isolating each planet to their own leadership. Yornacut itself is now under siege by my strongest attack force, and once they crumble, every other system in our galaxy shall follow suit. I will be the only voice any Quenterian heeds for the next million cycles, or longer if I so desire.

The server attempted a smile that came off crooked and mocking, displeasing her. She took his face in both hands and touched her forehead to his, her face hardening. When the interstellar dust settles and my Society of Progressives are in power, we shall experience great changes, and the defeated Purists shall beg me for crumbs of glory.

She waited for his accolades, but realized he was unconscious. Her hands had squeezed his head too tightly.

She laughed, standing up and letting him fall in a heap. Oops.

It was a masterstroke plan that the overconfident Purist simpletons had never anticipated. She had effectively cleared the path to conquer Yornacut, home planet to the Purist government’s offices and legislators who ultimately ruled her people—the center of the Center. Her loyal governmental agents and followers in other systems would smooth over the transition of power once her modest fleet crushed Yornacut’s substantial planetary defenses. The masses would have no understanding what this meant until far too late for their whiny voices to make any difference. All computational models indicated that in order for Veera’s plan to succeed, she had to seat herself on Yornacut before communications and space travel resumed, enabling reinforcements to chase off her fleet.

Of course, she had an alternative plan in place, though it was riskier and would require a tactical demonstration. Veera preferred certainty to theatrics.

The server retched, struggling to his hands and knees. Veera sat on top of her desk and watched, curious if he would achieve his footing. He did not, but collapsed panting instead.

"My age is what it is because I refused to die. Three-hundred-fifty cycles ago, simply because I had supposedly lived what they deemed an acceptable life span, the Purist laws would have condemned my brilliance to death. I defied them!

"When the chest pains became unbearable, I visited the private lab of a sympathetic surgeon with a minor financial problem. He operated on me with stolen instruments to repair the blockages in my natural heart. I lived.

"The Purists held their iron grip so long they’d forgotten to explain why they mattered. The masses were ready for something different. Like a flame to tinder my vision spread, while the Purist leaders watched in dismay how their people embraced me.

Thanks to further clandestine surgeries, my body remained youthfully vibrant. The Purist leaders noticed my failure to age and ruled my existence a gross violation of their antiquated codes and rules. I was sentenced to be executed, the first such case of its kind in the history of our people. Murdered! They hoped to end this threat to their way of life with my death, then dismantle the vast organization I’d spent a lifetime assembling.

Veera paced back and forth across the office floor, caught up in her memories. Reliving the indignities of that time maintained her resolve. "I allowed everything to proceed as they had planned, but at the last minute, substituted a fresh corpse while my trusted followers secreted me away. In this manner, the Purists believed they had disposed of me while I became a martyr to billions of people—a victim of harsh, unreasonable, antiquated rules that violated an individual’s right to life. My followers tripled, but without a leader to manipulate and channel their aggression, the flame threatened to consume itself. They needed me to guide them.

After another specialized surgery that altered my appearance and voice, I emerged as a young but enthusiastic champion against governmental tyranny, founded the formal Society of Progressive Thinking, and utilized my previous identity to recruit sympathetic followers in swelling numbers.

Veera folded her arms and stared at her viewscreen, scrutinizing the local news reports. The commentator expressed confusion and concern that their ships would no longer fly, and their long-range communications systems no longer functioned. Was it a mass technological failure? Solar flare? Were the Radicals or some other disgruntled organization behind it? No you fools, not disgruntled, but unblinded!

Veera smiled. The Society had flourished beneath her watchful eyes as she waited patiently for the proper moment to strike. In the meantime, she used her skills of manipulation and coercion to place people into crucial positions of government, military, and scientific endeavors. She also made certain they properly groomed their replacements, to perpetuate her grip on the strings of society indefinitely. Veera didn’t plan on dying again, but knew that others would before everything was ready.

Once again, the dismayed government noticed a person had aged beyond the permitted life span, but rather than repeat the error of their predecessors, the current regime’s officials agreed to overlook this transgression. Veera had become far too powerful to martyr. They were terrified of what might happen should they attempt to execute her now. Free from their meddling, Veera went on to increase her reach to the furthest ends of the populated galaxy, collecting new recruits and allies in droves until she felt she was ready to succeed.

That exhilarating moment was now close at hand. She raised her fist to the ceiling and cackled.

Sensing a communication from one of her aides, Veera allowed the sender to reach her mind. Your Eminence, an urgent message from Commander Ector.

She didn’t wait, but extracted the message forcibly and cut communications.

Commander Ector had intercepted a transmission from one of the many spaceships incapacitated by the navigational virus. The Mission Commander of this observation vessel had permitted one of his crew to go loose upon the seedling planet known to the natives as Earth.

Veera frowned as the full implications sank in. First off, the fools had violated their own codes against interference with a seeded planet—something she hadn’t believed they would do for any reason. Still, other than serving as a curious point of support to her Society’s beliefs, it didn’t offer much interest. The presence of one of her people on a seeded planet, on the other hand, gave her pause.

The girl’s name was Aldrea, daughter of the crew’s Observation Commander, a prominent supporter of the Purist government. An enemy.

Veera’s obsession with detail ensured her plans were invariably foolproof, but such an ability to perceive all the possible outcomes of a situation meant that dangers were imbued with more potential than they deserved. This girl’s presence concerned her.

She pulled up data on the planet in question. The girl was marooned on a planet filled with primitive, arrogant creatures possessing an innate tendency toward violence. With Aldrea’s technical assistance, they had the potential to master interstellar space flight equipped with sophisticated weaponry. The incentive to do so was already part of their violent nature. If nothing else, Aldrea could warn the seedlings about Veera’s plans of conquest—if the girl figured things out—complicating what should become a simplistic breed-and-abduct operation in the near future. On the extreme side, Aldrea could organize Earth’s seedlings into an offensive attack unit, perhaps spreading the same advanced technology to other seeded planets as well, creating aggravation if not inciting outright rebellion. Veera was not one who dismissed the motive of revenge lightly; indeed, it was the strongest incentive for action in existence, as far as she was concerned.

She had not reached the threshold of victory through poor planning or taking unnecessary chances. A blazing fire began with a spark.

"Dispatch a trusted resource to the seedling planet in question. Locate the girl and terminate her. Avoid confrontation, but if necessary, eliminate any seedling who gets in the way."

She dismissed the matter from her mind. There were more pressing issues at hand, such as preparing her first communication introducing herself as Empress.

A whimper caught her ear just as she returned to her desk. Ah, yes, the curious server upon whom she’d graciously bestowed her biography. Sadly for him, it was lethal knowledge. Her followers thought her a mysterious, powerful demigod, a trust she could ill afford to fracture.

The only organ Veera possessed from her original body was her brain. While her people possessed basic telepathic capabilities, she had learned that those powers enhanced over time. The older she grew, the more potent her mind became. She had funded covert scientific experiments to augment the powers of her mind through implanted cranial receptors with corresponding amplifiers hidden within the structure of her desk. This forbidden technology enabled mental feats no other being was capable of. Power and mystery did not engender trust, but she would settle for awe and compliance.

For now, it was going to help her eliminate a useless pile of excrement.

Closing her eyes, Veera reached out with her mind until she’d snared his. Then, like squeezing a lump of butter, she squashed his involuntary reflex controls until his heart and lungs ceased to function. She deflected a desperate mental attempt to block her, enjoying herself. It wasn’t often she indulged herself in life’s little treasures. She would make this last as long as possible.

Somehow the fool found the will to rise to his feet and stagger toward her.

Pity, he was forcing the end too soon.

She stood still, allowing him to come closer. His choice to fight was amusing and curious. Why didn’t he try to run? Still, she wouldn’t stop him.

The server couldn’t know about the radius of defense that projected invisibly outward from the queen. The moment the server stepped over this threshold, a thermal-laser stabbed his head with an intense ray of heat. He collapsed to the ground for a final time, his brain destroyed. Veera’s desk housed many deadly secrets.

Her body pulsated with a purple-red glow. She twirled again, bathed in her own light, invulnerable and unstoppable.

CHAPTER ONE: DOUG

Adirondack Mountains, New York

Douglas Keller plodded along the rock-strewn trail, enjoying flashes of warmth from the sun poking through gaps in the swaying leaves. He considered how people took the brilliant orb’s light and heat for granted, then laughed at his whimsy. If nothing else, this little vacation had freed his mind from the mundanity of his day job, but once back home, it wouldn’t take long before his hectic life consumed him again. That was okay, though. Doug enjoyed keeping busy, and had plenty of tasks to occupy his mind besides what might happen if the sun went away.

He whistled as he walked, cheerfully swatting away clouds of gnats and the occasional mosquito. Other than a dull ache in the back of his head, he felt awesome. He rubbed the sore spot, expecting it to hurt from his touch, but it didn’t. He must have slept on a rock or something last night.

Doug paused, sensing something wrong, as though an important event on the edge of his mind was struggling to emerge. All he’d done in the last week was hike trails in the Adirondack Mountains. What could possibly have happened, except maybe a mosquito bite or poison ivy rash?

Well, there had been that encounter with a black bear he’d surprised in a clearing, but Doug wasn’t sure which one of them took off faster. Forgetting everything the ranger drilled into him before starting his hike a week ago, Doug had run as fast as he could in the opposite direction from the bear, only realizing the bear did the same when he looked back over his shoulder to see how close he was to being eaten.

Doug indulged in a chuckle as he imagined relaying this story to the physics students once he was back in the classroom. For the past four years of graduate school, working towards a doctorate in Material Sciences, he’d subsidized his tuition by taking a post as an assistant professor. It was enjoyable work but he longed to teach his own class. Starting September, he would be. Now if he could only come up with some catchy connection between a fleeing bear and the composite materials on NASA’s latest space shuttle, he’d have the perfect lead into the syllabus.

But what happened after I turned to look at the bear?

Doug tilted his head as he paused in mid-stride, the wind-rustled leaves and symphony of bird vocalizations fading into the background. His hand rubbed the back of his head again, and he was still surprised it didn’t hurt. Then, a falling sensation made him dizzy, forcing him to bend over with his hands on his knees until the vertigo passed. He breathed slowly while his vision cleared and waited, listening for…something. More birds singing, more creatures rustling through the woods around him. Nothing different from what he’d already heard throughout the past week, repeated over and over again, until it faded from conscious thought.

Doug straightened, shrugged, and resumed hiking. Probably an allergy attack, and he was out of medicine. He expected to arrive back at the campground he’d started from before nightfall, and return home in the morning. One more day without popping an antihistamine wouldn’t kill him.

He couldn’t wait for this hike to end. Doug was so looking forward to settling down in front of his TV with a cold soda. Now that whatever compulsion to leave the comforts of his Long Island home had been appeased, Doug swore he’d never take another vacation again. He wouldn’t even be here in the first place if not for the constant nagging by his best friend Ken to get out of his lab and breathe some fresh air for a change. Doug should have known better than to take recreational advice from an avid outdoorsman, but Ken made it sound too awesome to resist. In hindsight, the fact that Ken made tons of money selling Jaguars should have given Doug pause, but by the time his friend’s pitch was over, Doug couldn’t wait to sample fresh air by the bucket.

Well, Doug was so done with fresh air at this point he looked forward to sucking in Manhattan’s polluted smog and even unwashed taxi drivers. All fresh air did was make him sneeze—hard. He sighed, wiping his nose with a tattered handkerchief his mother had shoved in his shirt pocket before he drove off. The surrounding chirps and scuttles continued despite the loud noise he’d made. Even out here in the middle of nowhere he was barely noticed. Story of his life.

Pulling off the Yankees baseball cap plastered to his head, Doug knelt beside a small creek to splash some cold mountain water over his face. Closing his eyes to avoid the bright sunlight reflecting from the water’s surface, he imagined he heard steam hiss as the water struck his skin. His eyes opened, revealing his rippling reflection, then widened further when he noticed his shirt was spattered with dried blood.

What happened after I turned to look at the bear?

Doug blinked several times while rubbing the back of his head, unable to recall where the blood came from. Had he scratched himself on a thorn bush? He pulled the shirt over his head and felt his torso for a wound, then sat back on the grassy bank perplexed. He couldn’t find a single scratch, although more blood clung to his chest. He splashed water and rubbed the dried blood from his skin. Turning his body sideways, he noticed even more clung to his back, and scrubbed that away too using a small branch on the areas his hands couldn’t reach.

As the sluggish current carried away red swirls of dried blood, something caught his attention. It took him a moment to realize it was an unfamiliar smell. He sniffed the air, inhaling an intoxicating, exotic fragrance, which prompted him to search for its source. Seeing no flowers in the immediate area, Doug lifted the balled up shirt to his face, breathing in a scent unlike any other he’d ever known. It reminded him of lavender and jasmine with a hint of licorice, yet smelling it felt like seeing a fourth primary color. It was just so…alien to his nose.

Had he slept on a flowerbed? How had this scent infiltrated the fibers of his shirt? Doug strained to remember, but all he could recall was turning to look at the bear.

What happened after?

A surge of pain shot through his head as though a molten spike was pounding through its core, until he turned his thoughts elsewhere. With a grunt, Doug gave up remembering and after stuffing the bloody shirt in a side pocket, pulled on a semi-clean shirt from his pack. Sweat and grass stains abounded, but at least it wasn’t covered in blood. What strange things being in the wilderness did to a person’s sense of cleanliness.

Doug glanced at his watch. By this time tomorrow, he’d be in the lab at Columbia. He’d be able to analyze the blood to determine its origin, and hopefully find an answer. If not, he’d schedule a CT scan to make sure his brain wasn’t harboring a tumor.

But first he needed to return to the campground. He looked for the blue markers on the trees along the trail to confirm his position, then resumed hiking, a growing excitement adding a spring to each step. He attributed this positive feeling to being psyched about retrieving his cell phone from his car, which Ken had forced him to promise to leave behind, just to make sure he actually relaxed instead of working. If he was honest with himself, after withdrawal anxiety faded by the second night while he sat by his campfire, Doug felt relieved the phone wasn’t in his pocket. He knew he’d check emails and make phone calls to his colleagues at the lab, and his mother would check in on him every hour to make sure he was still alive, while his father yelled at her to leave Doug alone in the background.

Doug smiled as he recalled her protestations when he explained this vacation to her in detail. No phones, out in the middle of the wilderness by himself communing with nature, and possibly deciding to remain there to become a hermit and live in a cave. Off the grid. Of course he was joking. Like anything could possibly stand in the way of his career as professor and scientist now that his doctorate was finally completed. But he loved to tease her.

It would be ironic if something happened to him after he promised his parents he’d be fine.

Smith’s flushed face, bright eyes, and the way he marched rather than walked toward the podium clearly indicated he was excited. From his tight grip on a bundle of manila folders clutched to his chest as though they possessed the secret to eternal youth, Bill surmised they contained the reason behind this impromptu get together.

Bill rubbed his chin. The fact that the President had ordered all security agencies to provide representation indicated how important the matter was. All that remained was for Smith to begin, if he would only quicken his pace. Smith paused to fuss with his collar. Bill repressed a sigh; Smith was going to milk the spotlight for as long as possible.

Smith was the senior lead for satellite surveillance analysis. Bill couldn’t recall whose department that put him under these days as congressional committees squabbled where to bury the budget, but his agents used them from time to time to gather intelligence data. If Smith was driving this, that meant a satellite had captured something significant to national security.

But what Bill couldn’t quite figure out was why Smith seemed almost…eager. If some foreign power threatened US territories, why didn’t Smith’s body language convey fear, or at the least, apprehension, instead of anticipation? Bill glanced around. The other invitees were assembling around the massive oblong table, sitting on or standing behind plush, red velvet-trimmed armchairs. Resting on the mahogany top before each seat were notepads and crystal water glasses. Pitchers of ice water glistened as droplets merged into little pools on the glass surface covering the wood. The aroma of brewing coffee permeated the room.

Dr. Smith nodded his hellos before strutting to his place behind the podium. He continued to take his time, fussing with the position of the microphone even though it wasn’t powered on. Trying not to think about the growing stack of paperwork waiting back on his desk, Bill continued to look around the room.

His apprehension grew as he identified the other participants. They were all high-ranking officials such as Edward Swann, Director of the Central Intelligence Agency, sitting closest to the podium wearing his usual pompous I’m better than you expression. Across from Swann sat National Security Advisor Brian Krawley, and his aide. Two three-star army generals and several members of the National Security Council, along with their own aides, completed the assemblage.

Bill was taken aback, realizing the only reason a person of his rank was sitting here was that his boss, the FBI Director, was on a golf course across the country. Something big was taking place, something that wouldn’t normally include a Deputy Director. His mouth suddenly dry, Bill reached for the water pitcher.

Smith cleared his throat from the podium. Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. Please take your seats and we’ll get this show on the road. Murmured responses emanated from the audience as they shuffled in their chairs, clutching coffee mugs and smartphones. Dr. Smith stood there beaming, basking in their attention. Bill felt like slapping him across the head. This wasn’t kindergarten, dumbass!

Brian Krawley rolled his eyes while tapping his Rolex. I have other appointments on my calendar, so please do get started, Doctor.

One attendee stood, his eyes gleaming. Is it true? Do you really have concrete proof of extraterrestrial life?

Bill’s jaw dropped. Was he joking?

Brian Krawley snorted. What rubbish!

For heaven’s sake, contain your outbursts, please, or we’ll never get out of here. Swann, the thin-faced, middle-aged CIA Director spoke with a soft but forceful voice. Let’s hear the facts before leaping to conclusions. The President would not have insisted we all meet here today if he wasn’t reasonably certain of the validity behind Dr. Smith’s information.

Bill restrained a smirk. The CIA Director and the National Security Advisor were renowned for their fiery clashes. This would be entertaining.

But much to Bill’s surprise, no rebuttal came. Glancing at Brian Krawley’s pale complexion and intertwined fingers, Bill realized despite his words to the contrary, the Security Advisor was taking this very seriously. Which meant the President was, too. Bill loosened his tie and sat up straighter in his chair. He despised politics, but accepted it as a necessary evil in order to do his job. He had to be very careful what he said in front of these high-profile politicians. His boss had picked a great week to go away on a golf vacation. Bill hoped the FBI Director pulled his back teeing off, and spent the rest of it in traction.

This won’t take very long, gentlemen, Smith said. I am responsible for collecting and analyzing the data obtained by our satellite network, from weather predictions to foreign surveillance. My team then analyzes the information before dispersing it to the appropriate parties.

We are all quite aware of who you are, Dr. Smith, Brian Krawley said.

Smith nodded with pursed lips. He cleared his throat, coughed into his hand, then reached for a pitcher and filled his cup. As Smith sipped the cold water, Bill could see the advisor’s face reddening.

Finally, Smith resumed. Very well. Last night at approximately seven-thirty p.m., Eastern Daylight Time, one of our satellites detected a small oblong object at approximately twenty thousand feet, which appeared to materialize out of nowhere. He paused, glancing at each face around the table. We tracked this object as far as the Adirondack Mountains before losing it once the tracking satellite orbited out of range. Never before have we come across anything like this. The object quite literally appeared out of thin air, guided itself to a specific area, and descended at what we’d call a reasonable landing velocity.

Bullshit, the Security Advisor said. Even so, Bill noticed his expression remained thoughtful.

Bill decided he needed to offer something less volatile. Are we absolutely certain this…object has indeed landed?

We lost track of it for a good half hour, Bill, Smith said, and when the next satellite passed over that region, there was no longer any sign of it in the air. The trees and mountainous terrain offer a multitude of hiding places, but even spotting an object that small in an open field could prove challenging depending on the undergrowth beneath it.

Swann coughed, fiddling with his CIA badge card tied around his neck by a length of black lanyard. Bill watched his thumb circle the emblem of an eagle’s head above a red starburst. So, it just disappeared from whence it came, eh?

Smith bit his lower lip. Not exactly. His fingers drummed the stack of manila folders resting on top of the podium.

Well, Bill, I see I can’t pull one over on the FBI, Smith said, forcing a chuckle.

Show us then, Brian Krawley said. From his dispassionate tone, Bill gathered he already knew the contents.

Smith frowned before passing down the stack of manila folders. Bill had the impression Smith didn’t appreciate being rushed. How often did a techie get to capture the attention of so many high-ranking politicians?

Bill opened his folder, which contained color copies of a grainy satellite photo. What the hell? The photo revealed a small, egg-shaped craft with open hatch revealing the anterior cockpit. Using the bed of flowers it lay within for scale, he estimated at most one person could fit inside the thing, if it wasn’t entirely robotic. But